Constancy
by Ignited
Summary: It's constant, this being there, despite changes and opinions." The friendship between Harry and Hermione grows stronger despite obstacles. (HarryHermione)


**Title**: Constancy  
**Author**: Ignited  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Category**: Drama  
**Pairing**: Harry/Hermione  
**Summary**: "It's constant, this _being there_, despite changes and opinions."  
**Spoilers**: Post-OotP

* * *

_For I have got another girl  
Another girl who will love me till the end  
Through thick and thin she will always be my friend  
-- Another Girl, The Beatles_

* * *

When Hermione is notified of the event, she does not flinch. She nods, a bit emphatically, as if to quiet the speaker.

She doesn't speak of it in public afterwards.

* * *

In the weeks that follow, there are hushed whispers and strange looks given in the halls. Hogwarts students, an inquisitive group, cannot help but glance at the boy. It's been said he's gone off again, meddling with things that shouldn't be meddled. He did not show up to class for a few days. Up in the infirmary, being seen by Madam Pomfrey. As per usual, there were many different maladies and rule breaking events that come up as ideas for an excuse.

This continues for a while, and he goes to class, head down, eyes focused. By the third week, the talk has moved on to other things, such as Christmas shopping and holiday break.

As usual, Harry Potter signs up to stay at Hogwarts for the vacation. So does his friend Hermione Granger. The Weasley boy, Ron, opts to visit his family, mumbling under his breath about his mother and other things.

It has been nearly a month since the whispering started when the students leave the school for Christmas.

As for Harry and Hermione, they are nowhere to be found.

Nor is his Invisibility Cloak.

* * *

The first time it happens, Hermione watches carefully, wand at the ready.

He protests-and has been, for almost three weeks now-but she continues to remain standing there. Wind rustles and makes the floorboards creek. The hollow sounds rise and fall, singing and screeching. It is a mournful sound, that of cold violins that streaks through the Shrieking Shack. A sliver of white in the darkness, frowning, concerned.

Harry clears his throat, looking more pale than usual. He wears simple pajama bottoms, no shirt, skin breaking out into goose pimples from the cold.

"Hermione," he starts, sounding hoarse. The foul taste of the potion she gave him earlier did not help matters. Or the resignation and sneer on Snape's face when he concocted it for him. "Please - for once, listen to me -"

"For the last time, I'm not leaving." Hermione frowns, nodding. She herself wears a sweater and jeans to keep away the cold. "You'll be all right, Harry. We're far away from anyone."

"It's just…" He trails off, a helpless look. "I don't want you to get hurt."

She waves a fistful of material in her other hand. "That's what this is for."

"But what-" Harry stops mid-sentence, mouth open. He took a step back, staring at her. She seems to know immediately, moving away from him. Farther still, a pained expression on her face. Hermione bites her lip, as if to move towards him, but hesitates. Another second and she changes her mind, quickly moving forward.

"Get - AWAY - Hermione!" Harry growls, head jerking to look at her. His eyes seem to plead, never glancing at his now discarded glasses, fallen and broken from his movements.

And then it starts.

He cries out, staggering. A shudder tears through him, from his neck and down as he hits the floor on all fours. Fingernails scramble for grip, sinking down into wood. It is a sickening crack that resounds through the Shack, that of his spine and back hunching, growing. Bones twist and rearrange with cracking noises, lengthening. Arms and legs give way, stretching and shifting. Flesh and skin rush to meet the changes, bones straining.

A gasp is heard somewhere, but Harry cannot see where, for he is too far gone from the pain as his insides twist to meet the outside.

While lengthening limbs move erratically, his face begins to lengthen. Farther still, as a dark brown pattern ripples down his skin. Then the pattern comes to life, bursting forth in a sleek coat of fur.

It seemed to take hours - the pain, blinding brilliance - but it only lasted for a minute or two. Curled into a ball, a werewolf, man-sized and quiet. Then it stretches out its long, thin limbs, rising up. It is a strange sight to see, how the blend of man and wolf occurs. Thin, wolf limbs, yet it maintains the same size of a man, the same air. It hunches while bright eyes begin to take in the surroundings.

Then it lifts its head and howls.

* * *

Had she been with Harry or Ron, Hermione would've felt their hands on her shoulders, on her arms. They would pull her back, stop her. However, Ron was away on holiday, and Harry was quite occupied at the moment. She knew that he'd be cross with her for interfering and scaring the wolf. The last thing Harry wanted was Hermione to be more involved than she already was.

'The potion-' she had started earlier in the afternoon, caught between classes. Second and third years frowned at them, hurrying and bumping past. Harry had pulled her out of the way of human traffic. Now his finger went to her lips, quieting her. Afternoon sunlight poured in from tall windows, warm on Hermione's skin. In the light, Harry looked older; he was certainly taller, looking down at her with a smile.

'Took it this morning.'

'Do you still have a headache? Harry, you're looking awfully pale-'

'I'm fine. Feeling a bit hot is all.'

She bit her lip, but he put a hand to her waist.

'We've got a half-hour until the next class.'

'You're mad!' she said with a laugh, finding that he only looked at her quite seriously, heatedly, in return. 'But Harry-'

It was not the first time nor the twenty first that Harry quieted her with a kiss in half sunlight and half shadow.

But now he eyes her, green eyes set in dark brown fur, looking nothing like the tanned flesh and Quidditch blown hair. He looks at her with contempt, looking _through_ her - Invisibility Cloak, soft hush and cold slip of fabric - before proceeding to stalk towards the door.

And then he rams it with his shoulder and long limbs.

Hermione wishes she had locked it up tight with more charms and wards when the door falls.

* * *

The morning after, Harry wakes up on the grounds of Hogwarts, trousers in tatters. Yet there's a rush of feet, shouting, and Hermione runs towards him, hair wild, branches and leaves. She shouts things he cannot understand, and for a minute he wants to bat her away, growl at her. But he can't, for he's numb, arms weak, useless. Then there are more blurs, one of bushy hair, the other an equally bushy beard.

Some minutes later, he collapses into the soft quilt of Hagrid's bed, shivering, bare legs half-dangling over the edge.

* * *

It is in January that Hermione notices Harry's first scar.

Clearly, it is not the first - not the one on his forehead, lightning bolt, obvious to all. This one, this new one, is very close to it. It skims the bridge of his nose, right between his eyebrows. It was dark red at first, a gash amongst others. However, the others have healed, but this one hasn't.

Harry only shrugs and goes about his business, telling her it doesn't matter. Another one, another scar, and he's used to the past sixteen years of living with one.

But when he's got his hand on her thigh and they're seated on the edge of his bed, she notices another scar on his collarbone. His shirt is unbuttoned, tie loosened, and it's _there_, a dark red slash on thin flesh over bone. She tries to reprimand him, say something, but he wouldn't want to listen.

She's used to that.

* * *

Around April the whispers increase, as well as the looks and stares. They wonder what has happened to Harry Potter, for he looks different. Too different. He's haggard, dark circles under his eyes, hair messier than usual. And there's those scars he's sporting, never giving a glance to them, going on his way. When he rolls up his sleeves, pours over work in the library, they no longer ask him about Quidditch. How he's faring in it, given his easy posture and athletic look. They only avoid glancing at his arms, looking before for slight muscles. Now they're ragged and crisscrossed with a mixture of faint and pronounced scars.

Battle scars, some would sniff, and nod pityingly. He's been occupied with so many things-the war, schoolwork, friendships, responsibilities. Surely he'll have marks from it.

Not this bad.

Not this bad that they murmur about him, curious, sorry for him. Poor Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, survivor, etcetera, etcetera, and he's scarred from it all-

Harry doesn't care, showing his arms like it's not a big deal at all.

* * *

"You're up to something, Potter."

"What are you talking about?"

"Missing classes - coming all scarred up and uglier than before. You are _up to something_. And when I find out what it is, that'll be the last of me seeing your stupid face every day. You'll be _expelled_."

"Calm down, Malfoy. You're likely to burst a vein. Or wet yourself."

"You can laugh now Potter, but you won't be laughing when you can't snog that stupid Mudblood every afternoon-"

"Shut up. Just - shut up."

"Potty's going red! Embarrassed, are you? Can't get any action other than Mudblood Granger! You useless git-"

"Malfoy! Potter! This is not lunch. Please quiet down and pay attention to the lesson or I'll take points from both your houses."

* * *

He is a living memory of a generation past, dark untidy hair of James, outspoken quality of Sirius, quiet resignation and scars of Remus.

Remus would have him yelled at had he heard of the incident's exact details and Harry's carelessness. Protect yourself, others, but don't go in mad and reckless, even if someone's down and she might be dead-

It is, after all, a night of battle between Death Eaters and wizards, that monsters were let loose. Varying shapes and sizes, terrible eyes and mouths. One found its way to Harry and bit down hard, making him scream.

He was a werewolf from then on, another burden that led him to Hermione's room sometimes at night.

* * *

In the midst of this, Ron never flinches at Harry, only remains by his side.

He hears them speak wrongly of Harry, bites his tongue. Certainly, he's not his protector, nor wishes to be. But it's a loud cough and change of subject from Ron that does it. The younger students look up and hurriedly finish their conversations, mumbling excuses and going off.

His talent for this increases, less red and embarrassed, making Harry laugh all the more.

* * *

"It's strange how little things have large consequences…"

She's wrapped in his arms, head on his shoulder, knees in his lap. Harry stretches, shivers a little when her fingers barely skim the surface of raised flesh. A whisper of touch against scars. Hermione doesn't do it with purpose, outright, to make him tremble, sigh. It's a curiosity that she can never bring in, and it only lasts a few minutes before she latches a hand on a book near Harry's hip.

"Harry…"

It's routine, this, she'll tell him not to worry, it'll all be fine. Seven years granted her enough knowledge to know not to press him so, for he always rebels and keeps quiet. Certainly, she could voice her thoughts, but it would leave them both quiet and on opposite sides of the room, staring at each other.

"If you think about it, I mean." Harry clears his throat. He looks down at the book pages, allows himself to roll his eyes - homework, when they've only a few weeks left - before looking out the window. He leans his chin on the top of her head, her hair soft against his skin.

"Why do you stay with me?"

"I think it would be obvious," Hermione says, turning a page, finger running down the length of paper. She sounds so casual that it makes Harry blink in wonder, before he looks out the window once more.

The full moon will arrive in three days.

He doesn't ask her such things thereafter.

* * *

A few nights before they graduate, after going over last minute work with Ron, Harry knocks on Hermione's door. He enters, without first a response from her. There Harry leans there in the doorway, posture languid, head canted. Not intruding - been there countless times, her own charms and jinx skills quite advanced in order for him to visit - just… standing. Watching her, how she turns on the edge of her bed and looks at him, questioning.

He's got a dark look to him, how the shadows fall on the hollows of his cheeks. 

"Harry? What's wrong?" she asks, eyebrows knit, concern in her movements and expression. She gestures for him to come to her, but he makes no move whatsoever.

"We'll be going soon." He looks further down, so she can only see that messy head of dark hair for a moment, before looking up again. "We'll leave."

"…It's made you reflect too often."

"I've been like this prior to it," Harry responds quickly, sounding put off. He runs a hand through his hair, looking uneasy in his own skin. And rightfully so, for he's thinner than before. That in itself is not a good thing. He's always been a bit thin, pale, and just quiet once in a while, solemn-

"'It'. You, Harry. It's in you, through you, part of you," Hermione tells him, condescending manner and chin jut out. Reprimand the little child, tell him he's wrong and teach him better. She raises an arm, sleeve rolled up, and he slides right into her touch. Lets her brush light fingertips against his shoulder, neck, and rest on the side of his face.

He's sweating furiously, and sits down near her, back hunched forward.

"It's a part of me I never wanted. Look what's happened to Remus-"

"So you're afraid you'll end up poor and alone?"

She says this bluntly, making Harry sit up straight, glare at her.

"Remus isn't alone," he snaps, moving a little sideways and leaning his back against the bedpost. The firelight is faint, his profile dark, bits of light falling on his hair and giving him brown highlights. Restless, twitchy, tie loosened. "He's got - he's got _us_."

"Three young wizards. It's not very much," Hermione points out. She bites her lip after another moment of silence, seeing how his jaw tenses. If he is alone, then that condemns Harry to the same fate. Harry could be easily angered and irritable at _times_, but the core of his being would not take a lack of contact. It is his friends who drive him on, past the points and exits Hermione wonders she might have taken.

Therefore, he lays back, firelight playing on his forehead and the side of his face, showing his scars. And his arms, scarred as well.

"If you're afraid we'll leave, you're wrong."

"It's not you leaving."

Clears his throat, saying nothing, though his eyes read, _it's me, in more ways than one_.

He doesn't leave her room that night.

* * *

When Harry graduates, his celebration is short-lived. It's full moon.

Having packed their things, they steal away to the Shrieking Shack with his Invisibility Cloak.

The shack groans, the werewolf howls, but this time she doesn't cry out. Only watches, fascination perhaps, heartstrings pulled and plucked, jerking her chest. After the first time, she did not watch him - at his request, and perhaps her own secret one. There'd be a nod, a glance over his shoulder as he went off at Madam Pomfrey's orders.

Now she watches and reacquaints herself with the shifting form of a boy, not quite a man, turning into a werewolf.

She'll tend to those ragged wounds thereafter, chastise him but at night enjoy the company and quiet. This is routine. It won't change. It's constant, this _being there_, despite changes and opinions.

_Fingers splayed against her hip, flung book of wizard history on the floor, tea cups and brave words._

She doesn't expect nor hope it to leave. 

END 

Review LJ 


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